


pragma

by ToasTea



Series: with the stars and us [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, diabetus warning, needed to dig to hell and back, the fuck they would stop in braavos LMAO, to find a reason as to why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 17:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasTea/pseuds/ToasTea
Summary: The affections between a queen and her knight are spoken in a language only they can understand.





	pragma

**Author's Note:**

> **  
> **  
> _"All of the times I smiled and cried were for the purpose of meeting you."_  
> 
> 
> Part 2 of my Dany x Jorah fix-it series after 8x03. This can be read as a standalone.
> 
> Inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSrsFcEBvFI) song and the beautiful Greek types of love gif set by [@scratchybeardsweetmouth and @thank-god-and-you. ](https://scratchybeardsweetmouth.tumblr.com/post/185710149606/greek-types-of-love-daenerys-and-jorah)
> 
> This was not beta'd. Apologies for any grammatical/spelling errors.

The house with the red door was a fond memory. Porting at Braavos on their journey back to Dragonstone for more supplies made her wonder if that house still stood.

No, it would remain simply as that - a memory that would occasionally bring pleasant waves of nostalgia, melded with a pang of sorrow at the faint recollection of Ser Willem Darry. Akin to the meek girl sold like broodmare in Vaes Dothrak who now flourished as a queen, Daenerys had outgrown her childhood dream.

Home was no longer a place, but a person.

A person who always stood by her, strong and steadfast. A man who cured the incurable, who not only fought with the strength of ten mainlanders but defied death with just as many. 

Oh, but she he had known he was also a ruggedly handsome man. Ever since the long night however, it was as though she was _truly_ seeing him for the first time.

Tousles of blonde hair mingling with grey that was neatly pulled back and curled at his nape, his straight nose, the defined strength in his profile, hands calloused from years of wielding and riding clasped in front of him, his eyes the aperture to his wisdom and the other side of the sea, skin that had been kissed by the Essos sun. The black leather tunic she had gifted him was well-fitted. It pressed against his broad shoulders, covered loosely by his dark cloak, and hugged his trim waistline.

Every ounce of gallantry and vigor seeped from his form, staunch as his house sigil with Heartsbane proudly strapped to his back. Always ready to fight, ready to protect her.

Gods, he was an _erotic_ sight to behold, as evident by the pleasurable coil writhing within her belly, the sensation causing her to shift in her seat by the Moon Pool-

"Khaleesi?"

The low concerned timbre of his voice brought him from her trance, and it took every ounce in Daenerys to keep any further traces of her gawking from leaking into her queenly facade.

"You look strong," she said, admiring the steadiness in her voice as her body made ill attempts to temper the slight flush on her cheeks, "it seems you are healing well."

There was truth to her words. His bindings had kept him from donning his armor, but he stood taller than he did weeks ago and a healthy color had returned to his features.

"I have your presence to thank for that, my queen," he smiled, a soft gesture she always welcomed. She had remained adamant since he'd regained consciousness, ensuring his stubborn nature didn't get the better of him.

"I am also quite sure your threats to cauterize any reopened wounds with dragon fire have hastened the process," he added, earning a scoff from the queen.

He had also been getting bolder in his japes, she noticed and there were faint traces of mirth in his eyes she did not recall seeing before. 

Perhaps it was her reformed relationship with Jon Snow that lifted their weathered hearts, held simply by political and familial strings. The young spark between them, provoked once before on unsteady foundations that eventuated to a hasty passionate retreat with the wolf, had fizzled. She bore no ill will and neither did he, as both of them had mutually decided to move forward together on different paths - stronger, wiser. They were seen as leaders by their people, and there was nothing their enemies feared more than the strength left in the wake of their scars.

The reveal of his true lineage at Winterfell played no small part either. As expected, discussions were heated - some favored their kin, some uncertain, others saw it as a betrayal, . A back and forth battle that drew in circles until the dragon erupted from the wolf's hide, silencing the room with his beliefs and ideals. Aegon Targaryen may have ran through his blood, but the woman beside him who had emerged from nothing and fought for everything was the true dragon, just as he was the bona fide wolf molded by Ned Stark. 

Doubts, secrecy, treason - all vacated her mind and soul as she stood together with him, tall in a foreign land as they finalized their decision in a room still filled with uncertainty. The breaker of chains had finally freed herself of what had entrapped her since the battle. Never had she felt so liberated, so light. 

Though her heart also knew of the seed that had lied dormant within her - no, between them had already begun to blossom into something else. The affection-starved touches, the warm kisses to his brow and cheek, the stolen glances. 

"Those 'threats' were for your own good and still ring true as you are still healing. You are strong, not foolish. You will do well not to prove me otherwise."

Their exchanges reborn with feathered weight.

"Of course, Khaleesi," he bowed. "Though I am beginning to believe dragon fire is a mercy as of late."

"Oh?"

Perhaps even more playful? Flirty even?

"The flame from a dragon child will never compare to the ferocity of his mother."

"All children surpass their fathers and mothers eventually," she said bluntly.

"Perhaps. Much to my dismay however, that day is not today."

She huffed in an attempt to stifle her soft chortle. Dipping her hand into the fountain behind her seat, she sent a fair spatter of water towards her knight, his breathy chuckle his only retort.

"Seven Hells! A Mormont, smiling _and_ laughing?"

Daenerys watched as her knight's face instantly twist into a scowl at the familiar voice. They turned to see Tyrion and Varys returning from the Iron Bank. 

The dwarf eyed them curiously, flickering between the both of them.

"Hm, you were weren't you? Not that it's a problem of course," he held up his hands to shield his point. "Smiling and laughter are two of the many wonders of this world. Their magical properties have taken years off of me. It's just difficult to tell behind all of this," he gestured to his unkempt beard.

"Like a wise man once said - a smile a day keeps a wrinkle away. Live by those words more often, Mormont and I guarantee you'll be as satiable as I one day. Maybe even more so...for someone else at least."

She didn't miss the way his eyes briefly flashed to her.

Neither did Jorah, apparently.

"What exactly are suggesting?" he growled, "Speak your intent clearly before your queen, not in riddles, dwarf." 

"What Tyrion meant to say, Your Grace" intervened Varys as he produced a pouch from underneath his folded sleeves, "is that we have garnered enough along with what we currently have to resupply both our armies and Dragonstone. Enough to get us going, but not a debt we cannot handle, as per your orders."

"Well done. Gather what we need and return to the ports by dusk. We continue to Dragonstone under the cover of darkness," she confirmed as she stood. With the knowledge of the Iron Fleet's location, they were able to plan different courses that would avoid a fight her people were not ready for yet.

"A wise decision, Your Grace."

"It must be strange for Euron Greyjoy to be sitting in the middle of the sea waiting for an enemy that's slipped under his nose," said Tyrion.

"More wounded pride than strange - outmaneuvered in his home terrain. We should not count him out completely, however. There is more to the sea than the calm on its surface," replied Varys.

Daenerys nodded. She knew of the Iron Fleet's strength from stories and Yara's recounts. She also knew that Cersei was kind of enough to supply him with Scorpions that threatened her children. They had outmaneuvered him, but they were not clear of danger yet. The Greyjoy's predictability was as limitless as the sea they flourished on. They had left Winterfell to allow Jon's forces to recover, and even then, help was weeks away should they fall upon an ambush. All precautions were necessary.

The pair excused themselves with a slight bow, but not without a murmured 'remember to smile' from Tyrion. 

She heard Jorah release a breath beside her, prompting her to place a hand on his forearm. Her movement had the desired effect, and he eventually loosened his stiff shoulders and covered her hand with his. 

"If I were to be completely honest, it took everything in me not to push him into the fountain."

The edge of her lip ticked upward, gaiety in her eyes as she gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. "I must agree with Tyrion to an extent. I do quite enjoy seeing you smile."

He returned her words with a breathy chuckle, the tips of his ears reddening as his eyes dropped to his feet in an attempt to hide his curling lips. An ever enrapturing image of such a fierce warrior that never failed to make her heart flourish.

"Come. I wish to see more of Braavos before we leave. I've heard there are lemon cakes here and they have quite the reputation. Have you had one before?"

"I've not had the fortune, Khaleesi. It's too cold for any seeds to thrive in the north and sweets were not luxuries my island could afford to import." 

Eyes soft, she wrapped her fingers around the crook of his arm, tugging him forward. "Then let us indulge together. I've not had one since I was a little girl and I'm afraid I've long forgotten its taste."

A reasonable distance away, Tyrion chanced a glance over his shoulder and smirked at the sight.

"As I thought."

* * *

Despite the day's clouded arrival above the horizon, the alleyways still sang with a number of merchants and traders. A few were still finalizing their shops, but the overall vibrancy from the Braavosi diluted the soft fog that had settled over their land. 

She was not a complete stranger to the curious glances as she and her knight traversed the city. Some admired her as the beauty that she simply was. As the only free city whose foundation was built upon slave liberation, most paid their silent respects to the breaker of chains with a slight bow and kind smile. There were a few of course who gazed upon her her as though she were shadowed by the sins of her Valyrian ancestors.

No matter. The Mad King, the past slavery embedded in her bloodline - those too were simply chains meant to be broken. 

They too would learn to love her, and she would start by returning their gestures with a smile, offering just a sip of the gentle heart she planned to rule with.

Eventually, they came across Missandei and Grey Worm before a shawl vendor. Grey Worm stood a respectable distance away, taking a precautionary stance, eyes constantly on alert of any potential danger. Daenerys soon found herself browsing the wares with her friend after a brief greeting while Ser Jorah accompanied Grey Worm in keeping guard. 

"The colors in this one remind me of my home," said Missandei, a faint yearning in her intonation, fingers tracing the soft material dyed with the warmth of the Essos sun.

"A home you may return to at any time," Daenerys reminded gently. She had delivered to them choices they were never given before and she would stand by her promise now, even if the throne was within her grasp.

"Yes. At any time because you have given us that gift," said Missandei, a gentle reminder of what had rooted and blossomed between them since liberating Astapor. "I wish to see you on the Iron Throne before I depart, Your Grace," Her gaze never left the shawl, but a grateful smile ghosted her lips, a gesture mirrored by the queen. 

"Is something holding you back?" asked Daenerys, nodding at the material in her hand.

Her handmaiden shuffled closer so that their shoulders were practically touching.

"I'm...not sure if this appeals to Torgo Nudho," she voiced in hushed whispers, wary of the two men behind them.

"You planned on showing him Naath one day, did you not? If this is but a glimpse of your home, then surely it will bring him the same warmth as it did you until the time comes."

Daenerys watched the brief hesitation gnaw the bottom of her friend's lips before it vanished from her contemplation. She graced her queen with a nod of thanks before exchanging coins with the merchant.

"A show of thanks to the Breaker of Chains and her council," sang the merchant as he bundled a few silvers and handed them back. "Any wares you see fit shall be yours for half the price."

"Your kindness will not be overlooked," said Daenerys, smiling as Missandei retrieved the coins.

"May I ask the same of you, Your Grace?" asked Missandei.

Confusion captured Daenerys' brows.

"Is something holding you back?"

Her emerald gaze registered the fabric she had been pondering over in her hands.

It was a brilliant coarse blue, its pattern a shadow of a dragon's hide embedded in its silk, akin to the magenta cloth that hung over her shoulder underneath her brooch. 

"An exquisite piece that surely matches its price," she replied after breaths of silence, though her answer never reached her eyes.

"You know that is not what I meant, my queen."

Ah, but that wasn't what was holding her back. Not in the slightest.

It wasn't the homage to a dragon or the cost that had attracted her attention.

She knew. They both knew. 

It was him. 

It was as though the remnants of his being had been scattered throughout the city, and she had naturally gravitated to _all_ of them.

The desire to create a memory with him that didn't involve the game of thrones of this world, but a simple lemon cake no larger than the palm of her hand. The soft and rich flavors they mutually savored as they took their first bite, how their soft laughter mingled as she thumbed the crumbs away from his lips - the way the world shrunk around them immediately after, the air that grew warmer against the slight chill and pulled them together so that their breaths became one, a spell broken only by the recreations of Braavosi children.

The lavish necklace she had purchased earlier without his knowledge - a small piece that epitomized its expert craft within a silver dragon's head on one end and a bear on the other.

The shawl that embodied the diverse hues of her fierce knight's eyes better than the blues of the Sunset Sea, one she held closer to her chest in the wake of her rumination.

Missandei must have sensed her lingering pause and brought a hand to her forearm, pulling her from her inner battle.

"If you fear, then fear not alone but with him," whispered Missandei. 

Daenerys drew her gaze to her friend, noting the sorrowful smile that took form alongside her words.

There was more to say, Daenerys noticed, but Missandei had said as much as she could with as little as their less than private surroundings permitted. There was no need for more. She had understood the nuances woven, the unspoken words a window that exposed what she had hidden beneath her spoils.

Words were difficult, and so was facing what had taken root in her heart. Out of fear, she had carelessly drifted to the easiest compromise as though she were desperately delaying the inevitable.

It was a culmination of impulses, selfishness, and fear under the guise of trinkets that held meaning and love but paled in comparison to the reality overwhelming her with every beat. A shameless shortcut she had forged to shield herself while traversing a raw and unfamiliar path he had long laid barren her - waiting, hoping, _loving_. Never asking.

She had underwhelmed her feelings and his worth. An epiphany that disgusted her. 

He feared no blade that would come for her, putting himself in front of it before it could ever reach. His affections for her was his greatest strength, empowering him with levels of vigor and fortitude that any man would find foolish and women envious.

He feared not Daario Naharis nor Jon Snow, always placing her happiness before his own. His heart enduring, hurting, but _never_ wavering.

But her? She felt like a _coward._

It wasn't fair.

"Your Grace?"

Missandei's voice and the bustling Braavos alleyway would eventually draw her from her thoughts.

Swallowing the bile that had formed in her throat, Daenerys simply offered her a nod and a glossy smile before exchanging coins with the merchant.

* * *

"Nyke Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārio Lentrot, hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan," said Daenerys. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria."

"Nyke...Ser Jorah Mormont," he began, "I am..."

 _"Iōrah Mōhrmont,"_ she corrected, enunciating with the trill of her tongue. 

"Iōrah...Mōhrmont," he mirrored, an impressive attempt for his first time. 

She gestured him to continue with the slight tilt of her head, offering him an encouraging smile.

He cleared his throat. "Nyke Iōrah Mōhrmont hen gr..gravis-?"

 _"Gryves,"_ she answered gently.

"Gryves. Gryves...tagembōñ, ie azantys hen jalmore."

A soft giggle stirred from her chest, and the only response her knight had was to glance away, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. His hand rose to cover his mouth, knuckles scraping against his lips and stubble, an act he did when he was nervous.

"Gryves _tēgembōñ, iā_ azantys hen _jelmor."_ She reached over the basket of leftover lemon cakes that sat between them and gently pried the hand away from his mouth, wrapping her fingers around his calloused ones. "Again," she encouraged. 

There was a brief emotion that flickered across his crimson features before it disappeared, tightening his grip around her hand as he nodded.

"Nyke Ser Iōrah Mōhrmont hen...gryves t-tēgembōñ, iā azantys hen...jelmor."

"I am Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, a knight of the north," she said, her eyes dancing in delight as she prided in his near-perfect attempt. 

A slight smile curved his lips and dissipated the remaining red from his cheeks, an answer to the swell of pride she held in her gaze.

Daenerys had chosen to return to the ship midday and dismissed Grey Worm and Jorah by having them assist with organizing the supplies. The revelation she faced by the vendor's stall had eventually proven its hefty toll on her mind.

Missandei offered to to undo her braids for her as she was accompanied to her chambers, but the queen declined and instead requested privacy. A choice her friend respected. Missandei soon took her leave, but not without a offering her a knowing, sorrowful smile.

Daenerys had attempted to spend the day reading, but found herself rereading multiple lines over and over again. She moved herself to the war room, reviewing their plans and reacquainted herself with the most recently known location of the Greyjoy fleet and other potential threats. 

She shifted the pieces on the table around, brainstorming probabilities that would force them into a tight corner and devised accordingly. Her mind eventually ran dry of any other potential situations, and she huffed in frustration as she moved the pieces back to their original positions.

The easiest escape from her turbulent thoughts she found was sleep - or so she thought.

After making the trek back to her chambers, she had nearly collapsed on the wares she had bought earlier today placed upon her bed, but was able to catch herself. 

She laid on her side next to them, clutching at the satchel the merchants had provided her to her chest. 

Later tonight, she had thought. When they were away from the bustling city and the noise pollution of the crew died down, she would take the opportunity to present them to him. A part of her feared her spoils wouldn't appeal to him, but the other half knew better. Jorah was a man who gave but never expected to receive, ever. He would most likely be flustered by the expenses she had spent on him. No matter - she would ensure he knew their value...and their reasoning.

Dusk had barely broken when a knock had awoken her. A voice beyond the wooden frame informed her that all supplies had been loaded and that they were ready to resume their path towards Dragonstone.

She took the opportunity to relieve herself from her chambers and climb aboard the deck to take one final look at Titan of Braavos and its city. The next time she decided to return, it would be as Queen of the Andals and the First Men.

Content, she eventually tore herself from the departing city and found her knight leaning against a wooden rail, sharpening his dagger with stone in hand. It was one of his past times she found oddly fascinating, more so the faraway look in his eyes, as though he were silently combating against thoughts just as turbulent as her own.

Her approach had knocked him from whatever trance he was dormant in, and he acknowledged her with a murmured 'Khaleesi' and bow.

Under the pretense that she couldn't have her knight spending another day without learning more than a few Valyrian phrases, they eventually found themselves across each other on the floor in his chambers. The satchel resting against the bed board on the floor next to her and the only light source came from the flame in the lantern on the desk.

"Valyrian is...quite a language to acquire, but I suppose any language can be for the first time," he said.

She willed herself to remove her hand from his, immediately missing its warmth, and moved so that she was sitting beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling him stiffen. 

"You're a fast learner than most," she said wistfully as her hand reached for the basket, bringing the sweet delicacy to her lips.

She felt the rhythm of his dry chuckle against her body, his shoulders relaxing in the motion. "I was much faster at picking up a sword."

She chewed the remainders of her cake before swallowing. It dawned on her that she didn't know much of his past, nor his childhood. She had limited knowledge of his first two marriages but she had every intention on keeping those memories buried for his sake. Nothing else came to mind, though.

"Tell me about Bear Island," she said, leveling herself so she could look at him more clearly. "I wish to know more about you, your childhood."

He turned, a near mistake considering their proximity. She didn't miss the way his eyes flashed to her lips before he forced his gaze to the basket in front of them.

"Bear Island is...swallowed by nature - weathered pine trees and wet stones, steep hills with streams and a waterfall that freezes over in the most bitter cold right next to our keep."

"Our summers, though short, are beautiful. There is of course beauty in our island beyond the haggard woods and harsh winters. What we lack in luxury is more than made up for with strength and mind welded by endurance," a beat before his eyes returned to hers, a reflection of once was home before he had ruined it, a sad smile gracing his lips, "but I suppose that itself is in the eye of the beholder."

Jorah Mormont was a man of a few words, but what was spoken held volumes of underlying thoughts that found no voice. His last few words, she heard as an echo to the wife that he had given all his heart and coin, a woman who had refused to see or value what she already had.

It was a ghost of a testament to the years of accumulation she had foolishly left untouched between her and her knight until the long night. A thought she pushed to the recesses of her mind, fighting the pang of guilt that threatened to overcome her.

"I was my father's only son so naturally, all of the attention and responsibility fell on me," he continued, breaths later. "I excelled at things all fathers would want in their child. Combat. Riding. Fishing. Hunting. I was a son who was promised in my father's eyes, but I abhorred the duties of a lord. I decided it was a smart idea to desert my lessons one day in favor of sparring with a few of our knights in the woods."

"And how did that fare for you?"

"Not well as you can imagine," he chuckled lightly. "The people of my family are as relentless and staunch as the bears on our island. My father had me shoveling horse dung morning and night for two moons while my aunt recited my future lordship as I worked."

She huffed. The image of his young self, punished for a minor rebellion by handling manure with an overbearing aunt on his shoulder was adoring.

But there was something else that inquired her curiosity.

"What about your mother?"

She almost found herself regretting the question as she watched the lines in his face reappear, replaced with a sorrow that tore his gaze away from hers.

"Father never spoke of her much," his murmured after a pause, voice hitched with an emotion she felt as though she'd inflicted upon herself. "I know I remembered her face at a certain point but...I was too young. Her presence lingered, but ."

Her hand found his again, entwining their fingers together as she burrowed into his shoulder and released a heavy breath through her nostrils.

Her mother had died after her birth during the storm. It was a feeling Daenerys was familiar with. The Gods had pity on her in comparison to her knight, however. While she had remained blissfully untouched by her mother's memory, Jorah preserved what he had before it eventually faded like smoke in a breeze.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," she said softly.

"Don't be," he whispered, drawing his attention back to her. "If there was ever a time where I could find the strength to speak of her, I'm glad I found it with you."

Her eyes widened and so did his, equally as shocked as though the words had seemingly taken flight before he was able to stop them. 

Her heart was enraptured by his enduring affection, ever more so when their eyes held, an intensity heightened by their nearness, breaths synchronizing in their quickened pace with lips parted. 

He turned away after mingled breaths, bringing his eyes to the basket in front of them instead, swallowing thickly. 

The effect it had on her was immediate. She felt herself pining for the warmth they had just shared.

"It's late, Khaleesi. You should rest," he said, voice hoarse from their exchange. " I can escort you back to your quarters."

He moved to stand, but her hand flew to his shoulder to stop him, his head snapping back towards her direction at the sudden urgency in her touch.

He was walking away again. An act he did so often during their conversations when he felt he had stepped beyond the familiarity he was permitted. An act welded upon layers and layers of rejection, reinforced by the torturous distance she had kept between them for so long.

Her eyes grew soft as it held his flickering ones, glossy from the silent flood of emotion overtaking her heart. Her hand slid from his shoulder and ghosted up his neck before settling on the small hairs of his cheek.

_No._

She felt his body grow rigid against her, his lips parting, the lines in his face arching from confusion with faint traces of adoration he never dared to fully act upon.

_I will not lose you because of me again._

Her hand glided from his coarse cheek to the little hairs at his nape, her thumb tracing the skin underneath. A movement that earned her a shuddered breath that fanned against her face, its warmth and his nearness inflaming.

_I am afraid, my sweet bear._

She urged him closer with the hand on his neck while her other tightened the grip on their entwined fingers. Their breaths lingered amidst each others, his natural scent invading her nostrils and intoxicating her being, her eyes hooding themselves as the desire writhed beneath her belly.

His eyes mirrored hers, lidded from desire, head tilted. Yet, his muscles remained tight as stone. His free hand pressed against the wooden floor to keep himself leveled, nails scraping against the material as they curled into a fist.

The air tightened around their forms, electrifying their heavy breaths. Their foreheads met, her eyes scanning his face painted with uncertainty, pouring what she had kept kept suppressed within her in words that only he could hear.

_Will you be afraid with me?_

She closed the distance, her lips melding into his as she closed her and relished its softness, a longing breath releasing from her nose against his cheek.

He did not answer right away.

It was chaste. A dip in unfamiliar waters. An invitation.

She slowly pulled back, eyes flickering open, watching the lines from his face soften before darting to the flash of pink that licked his bottom lip as if it was a sip of her taste. A shuddering breath, warm against her cheeks.

The confusion was cleansed from his eyes, but they still reflected a degree of a soft, wistful hesitation. It was almost as if she could hear, see his unspoken trepidation. 

_Is this a dream? Are you real? What did I do to deserve this?_

It hurt her to see it. To see what he had desired for so long come to fruition, only for him to question what was laid before him.

It hurt so much. Tears pooled to her eyes from the pain as it mingled with the overpowering love she no longer would ignore.

Could he not see it? No, of course not. Not yet, at least.

She did this to him. 

She would be the one to _undo_ it.

"Avy jorrāelan," she whispered, a soft confession that rang louder than roars of her dragons, reverberating against the silence with a force that caused him to sharply inhale. Foreign words that reached his widened eyes and exposed his understanding. Perhaps he had learned from Missandei and Grey Worm's conversations. Or perhaps terms of endearment were part of his natural affinity, regardless of language. 

With quivering lips, she pressed against his once more, her hand detaching from its entanglement, wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. 

An empowered kiss, a finalized answer, a clash of two storms becoming one.

A kiss he returned ardently, his liberated hand finding the small of her back, his breath flaring against her cheeks. The passion laid dormant that slid against her lips yet held the grace of their strong foundation.

This was not a passionate retreat. It was an awakening between a queen and her knight. A man and a woman. A dragon and her bear.

A brief taste of the lingering lemon as her tongue slid against his, the desire erupting from underneath her bosom as his grip on her back became more secure, confident. 

It was he who pulled back this time. She looked up at him through her lashes, her breathing labored as the faint flicker of confusion disappearing from her features at the sight of the ghostly smile his parted lips offered.

The raw love in his eyes, what he would try so hard to hide by averting it elsewhere, held steadfast.

_I have always loved you._

The adoration he had for her, what she had pushed away oh so many times, a threshold she finally crossed with her whole heart in tow.

_I have made you endure so much._

A crushing wave that drove a stray tear down her cheek as she returned his smile, her hand sliding from his waist, up his solid chest and around his neck.

Fist uncurled, he lifted his hand to her face, shaking from emotion as he thumbed her tear away before finding home on her porcelain cheek.

She leaned into his touch with a content sigh, closing her eyes at the feel of his weathered fingers. Reopening them, she secured her arms around his neck and gently pulled him towards her, his body willingly following her lead until her back rested against the wooden floorboards. His forearms barring her form as he hovered above her as his eyes darted across her face, an almost feral hunger reflected in his eyes that shook his breath.

She was always the one who controlled the room, who pulled the strings, who pleasured as she pleased.

It was near ethereal, an ecstasy that coursed between her thighs, an appetite she never knew she needed to quench until now.

Giving her bear the reigns, seeing him in a position of power above her, how small she felt entrapped between his arms, their breaths against their skins, the strength he exuded, his growing desire pressed against her waist. 

She wanted to _feel_ him. 

She wanted him to _feel_ her.

Her hands trailed across his broad shoulders, pressing against his muscles.

_Endure no more, Jorah._

Her eyes never leaving his, her fingers slid to the laces of his tunic at his chest, untying them, swallowing in anticipation.

She would never get a glimpse of his chest however, a flash of white capturing her attention, her gasp clearing the passionate storm brewing between them.

He was still healing. She could have hurt him. He could have reopened his wounds.

He blinked, brows furrowing in confusion as he followed her gaze to her hands.

His only response was frustrated grunt, akin to a growl. "I'm fine," he murmured before he hungrily nipped at her neck, seizing any retort she had and altering them into a pleasurable gasp.

"Jorah..." she breathed, her voice husky from his voracious lips on her neck, "Y-You're still-"

She felt him wince at a sudden sensation, lines on his face contorting in pain as he gingerly maneuvered on his side before settling on his back next to her.

Fear overcame her as she pictured the worse possible scenario and she was by his side in an instant, undoing his tunic to check for any seeping injuries. Her fear relinquished at the lack of blood, she released a weighted sigh that was followed by a groan emitting from her knight. 

Was he still in pain? 

Glancing down, she found her answer and giggled at the source of his frustration, she moved to hover over him, reaching for his coarse cheek.

"Forgive me, my sweet bear. Endure for just a bit longer," she voiced softly. 

He leaned into her touch, placing a kiss to her palm. "If I must...though, if I you allow me to convince you," he trailed, his hand snaking his way up her waist and towards her breast.

She halted his movement with a gentle swipe, a whimpering protest coming from his lips. 

"I will not put my bear at risk of an infection," she said sternly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "You will ride the dragon when you are fully healed."

He hummed in resignation, though the irritation was still evident in his tone. 

She smiled as she straightened, a glimpse of brown capturing her peripherals. She turned to see the forgotten satchel resting by the bedpost. 

Turning back, her fingers worked at the ties until his tunic was secure again before gently helping him sit up.

"Wait here."

Daenerys stood, missing the confusion adorning his handsome face as she fished through the satchel. She returned to his side, kneeling with the shawl and necklace she had bought earlier today.

He eyed the wares curiously.

She held the necklace out to him with both hands, palming the silver material in slight trepidation. 

He looked at it as though he had no idea what he was supposed to do with the it, as expected.

"We...passed by a trader selling a variety of necklaces," she said, eyeing the expert craftsmanship embedded within the dragon and the bear, "and I...couldn't help myself."

He cupped her hands with one while the other examined the precious silver. 

"Khaleesi, I-"

"Daenerys."

His head snapped to hers.

"It's just you and I right now. We are more than well-acquainted for a first name basis," she teased, earning a shy smile.

"Daenerys then," he mirrored. "Y-You shouldn't have, there is no need to spend so much on someone like-"

She silenced his stammering with a single finger to his lips.

" _I_ will spend however I see fit," she corrected, her voice soft yet resolute. 

She undid the clasp and leaned in to his form to tied it around his neck. Leaning back, her eyes glimmered with pride as she leveled herself with a hand on his shoulder while the other held the brooch.

"I wanted you to have something that will remind you of us," she said wistfully before bringing her gaze to his. "A dragon and her bear. Not a single detail spared in their design. If either head were missing, the design itself would be flawed."

His hand found the necklace, tightening his fingers around it, his glossy eyes ever adoring, never leaving hers. "You must be your people's strength..." he reminisced as though he could see the memory in her emerald eyes, a trailing echo to their time in the Red Waste.

"...As you are mine," she completed.

She watched him swallow the emotion before reaching for her cheek, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. Leaning back, a soft smile graced his lips, a gesture she mirrored wholeheartedly, melting any apprehension that had threatened to take her while presenting him his spoils.

"Thank you, Daenerys," he whispered.

She covered his hand with her own, leaning into his calloused palm, a silent acknowledgement. 

"As that is a reminder of us, _this_ will be a reminder to the world," she said, clutching the shawl in her lap.

His eyes reflected the same curiosity as before.

Instead of wrapping the shawl around his shoulders, she entwined a part around his neck before wrapping the rest around her own, shifting closer to him to accommodate for its length and his much larger body.

She tugged him closer with the material until their foreheads touched, the tips of their noses bumping into another's, his eyes dancing with an emotion she felt blessed to be on the receiving.

"A reminder to the world that you are mine, and I am yours," she whispered, the impact of her words a mere draft of a perfect future that took the breath out of him.

"A taste of the world I wish to create with the very thing they deemed a weakness."

Yes, that's right.

Love will no longer be the death of duty in her reshaped world.

She had finally crossed the threshold and grasped its hilt, and within its weight lied what she had awakened-sharpened beyond its double-edged existence, no longer dormant. 

The wheel beckoned its cutting edge to end its cycle.

**Author's Note:**

> Avy jorrāelan - I love you.
> 
> "paradox" drained the bejeesus out of me which was why this took so long to write. Petition to dracarys writer's block, let's do it you guys.
> 
> I changed a shit ton of parts in this one because I was unhappy with them. Still kind of unhappy with how this turned out, but I hope it suffices. 
> 
> SORRY NOT SORRY I CAN'T SMUT. Hoo boy, thank the Buddha Jorah is still injured. That would have been really bad for me lmFAo. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> I really can't though. I still need a lot of practice. Oh and like at least 5 bottles of Sapporo.


End file.
